All That She Wants
by Xavien
Summary: Meet Ginny Weasley: 25-year-old single mother of 5, likes transfiguration, cooking, and going out to purposefully get pregnant off of anonymous men. Why she does this stems from an emotional scar from her Hogwarts days. Can Harry heal her broken heart?


**All That She Wants** – a Harry Potter fanfiction by Xavien R. Maxwell 

All characters and subject matter appearing herein are the copyrighted © creations of J. K. Rowling, and are borrowed for the purposes of this fanfiction. No money in any form was earned in its production. The title, selected chapter titles, phrases, and story theme are taken from the song "All That She Wants" by Ace of Base and are copyright © Jonas Berggren, Ulf Ekberg, and Mega Records, Denmark, 1992.

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**Chapter 1: She's Going To Getcha**

The unusually sunny and cloudless day seemed to have attracted everyone in England and their brother to the shore. It annoyed him that it had required twenty minutes of ruthless hunting before he'd managed to procure a tiny space on the sand, and even then it was next to a family with two whiny brats that liked to throw sand at each other.

Throwing down his surfboard, Tony cursed tourism in general, spread out his beach towel, and settled down on his back. He didn't bother with sunscreen, being well-versed in the tanning arts and already sporting a respectable bronze color to the skin that wasn't covered by his swimwear. And as all that consisted of was a tiny blue Speedo, it didn't cover a great deal.

One of the brats shuffled over with a tiny plastic shovel in his hand and asked Tony if he could bury him. Tony sneered at him in response and rolled over, pointedly facing the opposite direction.

It was then that he saw her. Even in the huge crowd she was impossible to miss, with her shining red hair blowing in the breeze and gloriously sheer excuse for a bikini stretching the bounds of decency underneath a floaty wrap skirt. She was grinning like a cat as she moved swiftly through the crowd, seemingly looking for something.

Imagine his surprise when the siren came directly to him. He was well aware that he was staring, but couldn't do a single thing about it as his eyes roamed over every lush curve and crevice on her ivory-pale body.

And then he came to her face: seductive lips that begged to be kissed, a light dusting of freckles across her nose, pleasantly arched brows. And a gleam in her eyes that was positively predatory.

Uh oh.

"Lovely day for a trip to the beach." Her voice was sweet and sinful all at once, with a hint of Scottish brogue to it that stirred his blood, so that he had to sit up to hide his reaction. "Don't you think so?" she asked, flashing a devilish grin.

"Ah… yeah. I guess," he said, once he'd regained control over his brain.

"Can I sit here? Only there's no empty places anywhere," she said, looking around innocently and smiling sheepishly.

He'd have to have been dead for a decade to refuse. As she curled up on the sand next to him – _right_ next to him, so that their bodies touched from shoulder to hip – Tony surreptitiously draped an arm over his lap to further conceal his blatant arousal. Unfortunately, she noticed this defensive move and giggled sweetly, which did nothing for his peace of mind.

The smile she aimed directly up at him was brighter than any star in the sky. "So, Tony," she began.

"How'd you know my name?" Tony asked warily.

She gestured at his surfboard, which had the words 'Tony "Poseidon" Patrick' splayed obviously across it. Tony muttered a feeble "Oh" and wanted to kick himself.

"Are you any good? At surfing?" she asked.

At this, ego took over, and he puffed out his chest. "They don't call me "Poseidon" for nothing, you know. I've won a couple championships. Travel all over – Italy, California, Australia – looking for the right waves."

"Do you? Goodness, you must be very dedicated to the sport, then," she crooned, tracing one delicate finger lazily up his arm.

Tony broke out in a visible sweat. "Er, well, yeah, I am. Very… very dedicated," he managed to croak.

She only smiled, seeming not to notice his discomfort. "That's perfect," she murmured, her grin stretching lusciously.

The finger traveled further, across his shoulder and down, to tease the muscles of his bare chest. "So, being such a talented athlete as you are, you'd have to be extremely… healthy…" she reasoned, letting the finger go tantalizingly lower. "Would you say you're a healthy man, Tony?"

His breath caught in his throat when she hooked her finger around the elastic waistband of his Speedo. "Y-yes, yes!" he rasped desperately, now too far gone to keep the arousal out of his voice. "Very healthy!"

She smiled genuinely at that, and with a satisfied nod snapped his waistband back in place. "Perfect, just perfect. You'll do wonderfully."

In his current state, "Huh?" was as profound as he could get.

"I have a proposition for you, Tony Patrick, one I think you will enjoy immensely. My terms are simple: we go back to my hotel room right now and engage in blistering sex, and in return, all you have to do is forego the condom."

He blinked and stared at her, dumbfounded. He'd been with women many times before, but never had any of them asked him not to use protection. Quite the opposite, they'd all threatened him with unspeakable bodily harm if he didn't. This simply did not compute. "I don't understand," he said slowly.

She smiled indulgently, as if she were dealing with someone extremely dim. "I thought it was obvious, Tony. I want you to get me pregnant. I want a baby, and I want you to provide one for me. I don't expect you to take any responsibility for it – in fact, I don't want you to. That's one of the rules: one time, and then I'm gone, you never see me again, for any reason. So, what do you say? Do you accept?"

"Er…"

"Oh, come on, Tony, what do you have to lose? I've no messy diseases, I promise you that. Have a heart," she said, fluttering her eyelashes and putting on a pout that could melt even the most stalwart of men. "Knock me up. It'll be fun."

Tony quickly ran all the conditions through his head: a bout of what would almost definitely be fantastic sex, with no responsibility for the consequences. There'd be no whining about child support, or marriage. He wouldn't have to give up surfing to raise a kid.

It was almost too good to be true.

"I'll do it."

She smiled brilliantly and held out a hand. "Then grab your surfboard and follow me; my hotel's just a few hundred meters up the beach."

He did so, letting her pull him through the crowds toward a classy resort on the edge of the sand. "Hey, don't I at least get your name? I like to know the girls I fuck," he said with what he thought was a suave grin.

She looked at him, surprised, then thought about it for a moment before smiling. "It's Ginny."

"Well, Ginny, let me say it's a pleasure doing business with you."

Her laugh rang like the clearest bell.

It turned out he'd been right in his speculation: the sex was fantastic. And, true to her word, she was gone when he woke afterwards. He never saw her again, though he thought of her often, wishing he could find another girl as beautiful and sexy that he could enjoy for longer than an afternoon. And of course, she thought of him just as often, for how could she not when she carried the fruit of their joining inside her?

She especially thought of him during the labor and birth – cursed his name, actually, but it hardly mattered. He would never know, anyway.

And when, after it was all over, the doctor placed the tiny, gorgeous baby girl in her arms, she silently thanked him before dismissing him from her thoughts for good.

"Beautiful as ever," she was told later, after she'd recovered somewhat. "Number Five looks to be another to inherit the Weasley red hair."

Ginny beamed up at him. "Thanks, Harry. You saw her in the windows, then?"

"Just got back from there, actually. She's got all the nurses wrapped around this finger here," he grinned, extending his little finger to playfully nip her nose, "just like a true Weasley woman. You must have found a good one this time."

"Mmm," she replied noncommittally. "How's the rest of the clan?"

Harry recognized the subject change for what it was – a diversion – but didn't call her on it. "Fast asleep at Ron and Hermione's, all of them."

"Is Dimitri doing alright? She was so upset when I had to leave without helping her with her spelling."

"Dimi's fine. And before you ask, Seth's chicken pox is well on the way to abating."

"Oh, thank Merlin," Ginny breathed. "I felt so guilty having to leave her so miserable like that. And Avi?"

"Is taking his bottle without fuss," Harry assured her. "Don't worry about it, Gin, Hermione is perfectly capable of keeping him from starving."

Smiling at the obvious relief on her face, Harry knelt on the floor at her bedside, softly brushing her flushed cheek with his fingertips. "You should be resting right now," he admonished, "and don't give me anything about it being old hat to you. Giving birth is always a little slice of hell, no matter how much experience you have."

"Oh, and I suppose you fancy yourself an expert, since you've been present for all of mine?" she mocked teasingly.

He laughed and drew her into a gentle hug. "Absolutely. And you can bet I'll be present at all the ones in the future. Unless," he added, pulling away to look her in the eyes, "Unless you think five is enough?"

She smiled and shook her head, and he sighed. "I thought so."

She couldn't miss the disappointment that clouded his eyes to green smoke. "Harry," she said softly, her face grim, "I don't pretend to think you agree with what I'm doing, but –"

"What I think doesn't matter," he interrupted. "I know how much you want these kids, and if this really makes you happy, then I'm with you all the way. I just wish you would find a better way of doing it."

She looked at him blankly. "Well, really, Harry, what other way is there? Unless you're suggesting I order a baby from the stork next time," she jabbed playfully.

"No, that's not what I mean," he said, giving her an exasperated look. "I mean… Muggles have a way of doing it, you know, just injecting the sperm with a syringe. Artificial insemination."

Ginny blanched. "Inject? You mean like how they stab people with pins and put diseases into their blood on purpose? They do that with… oh, that's horrible! I'll stick with my own methods, thanks all the same!" She shuddered.

Harry rolled his eyes, but decided not to push the issue. "Fine, fine, forget I mentioned it." Getting to his feet, he reached out to run his fingers through her hair, softly tangling them so it looked like his hand was engulfed in flames. "You gonna be okay?" he asked softly.

"Aren't I always?" Ginny replied, reaching up to catch his hand in her own.

Harry squeezed it before letting go. "Sure, yeah. I'm going out to see if there's anything left of Ron and Hermione. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Give them my best, will you?"

"I will. And in return, you can do me a favor and get some rest so your brother doesn't slay me for neglecting you."

"Alright, I promise."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well? I'm waiting."

"I will as soon as you leave."

"Yeah right. Down," he ordered, gently shoving her in the shoulder so she rocked backward into the pillows. "And stay there for at least eight hours. You won't do that baby any good exhausted."

"I'm staying, I'm staying!" she said, laughing.

He grinned and headed for the door, but stopped when he was halfway out. "Hey, Gin?" he said, turning back to face her.

"What?"

"Thought of any names yet?"

She smiled dreamily from her pillow. "Korbin."

He groaned, smacking his hand to his forehead theatrically. "Ginny, those kids are going to curse your name for what you're doing to them. Can't you have at least a little mercy?"

"What? Girl names are too frilly and frumpy. My children deserve strong names, and that's just what I'm giving them."

"Yes, Gin, but the least you could do is pick something unisex. First Dimitri, then Seth, now Korbin? Are you _trying_ to traumatize them?"

"Oh, shut up, Harriet."

He scowled, crossing his arms sulkily. "Hopeless," he muttered. "Next thing we know, you'll be naming your sons after foods. Cookie, Cherry, Muffin…"

She threw a pillow at him. He caught it easily, grinning as he chucked it back at her and hit her square in the face. "Maybe that'll teach you to torture innocent kids," he laughed.

"Ooh, go away, you!" she tossed back. "Leave me in peace!"

"Going," he assured. And with a smile and a wave, he was gone.

Shaking her head, Ginny plumped the pillow, and with a satisfied smile, collapsed upon it and dreamed pleasant, baby-filled dreams.  



End file.
